Chapter 13 – Exile

A/N: This chapter will be intense and contains themes of self-harm/suicidal tendencies. This chapter was particularly difficult to write. I went through the most ridiculous emotional roller coaster trying to capture the range of reactions between these two characters. With that being said, I hope you are enjoying the storyline development and thank you for sticking with me this far. – delphicpigeon

Song Recs: Devil's Backbone – The Civil Wars, No Saving Me – Philmon Lee (feat. Lindsey Stirling), and I gotta throw in some good ol' angsty music from the early 2000's: Behind Blue Eyes – Limp Bizkit (Honestly, just put this song on repeat for the entire chapter – that's what I did writing it haha).

Draco's mind reeled. Everything had unraveled with that tiny slip of paper clenched in his fist. The Order had fallen. He couldn't believe the words. He refused to. Because if he acknowledged the truth in their meaning, then all was gone. The Dark Lord would continue his reign of terror upon the wizarding world, torturing and murdering countless wizards and muggles alike. Draco bolted to the toilet before violently emptying the contents of his stomach. Flushing the mess away, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and brushed the sweaty hair from his eyes. Leaving the bathroom, his eyes fell upon Granger's form. She was sprawled on the floor on her back, eyes staring blankly into the ceiling. If it weren't for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he'd think her dead. He stomped over and bent over her while a sneer distorted his face.

"This is all your fault." he seethed, "Your precious Order and their bloody dimwit of a leader have failed. It won't be long before the Dark Lord finds them and mercilessly flays the skin from Potter's body. He'll exterminate the Weasel clan one by one, saving the Weaselette for last. I'm sure you can guess what her fate will be."

She continued staring, unblinking and unresponsive to Draco's venomous words.

"Now the Gryffindor Princess nee Goddess is a useless simpleton," he mocked, "Stay on the floor for all I care. Useless witch!"

He whipped around and sprinted up the stairs, slamming the upstairs bedroom door with a resounding CRACK! He threw himself on the bed, his mind whirling.

This was it. Everything that had been sacrificed was lost forever. His godfather. His mother. Even the small semblance of peace he had experienced this past month. It was over.

An overwhelming wave of despair rose up in Draco. It constricted his airway, causing him to gasp out raggedly. He clenched his teeth and dropped his head to his hands in defeat. Draco sat trembling, tears refusing to fall, until darkness fell.

All of it be damned. He wasn't going wait for the Dark Lord to find him. He'd make sure that his body was cold and six feet under before he'd ever let that madman near him again.

Hermione laid on the floor, unmoving. She did not even flinch when the floor above her rattled, sending showers of dust sprinkling to the floor. She was still trying to process what had just happened, but she could not get her mind to move from that one word: betrayed. The Order had been betrayed. Many had died.

How many times must betrayal snatch happiness from their lives?

A diminutive corner of her mind was selfishly relieved that Harry had managed to survive, but who were the many that had perished? Was Ron alive? Or Luna? Were her parents safe? How many members had been sacrificed and what did that mean for the war efforts? Too many questions swirled through her mind and she felt sick from the effort of it. Slowly, her eyes fluttered shut, strained from the lack of focus. A headache was pounding at the back of her skull and her legs were tingling from the uncomfortable angle she had taken on the floor. She didn't care though. She had no energy to leave that place on the floor. The light disappeared from the sky as she lay shivering, refusing to light a fire and fell into an exhausted, yet fitful sleep.

She awoke as the soft light of dawn began filtering into the cottage. She winced as she lifted her head, muscles stiff and sore from a night spent tossing and turning on the cold floor. Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she rubbed at her arm absentmindedly. A quick glance revealed Malfoy was not around and she shuddered recalling his explosive response to the news. Unfortunately, she couldn't blame him, and she was sure she would have reacted the exact same way if she had been in his place. She continued sitting on the floor, not sure what to do next. Questions continued floating in her head and she began to feel the dull throb of a headache re-awakening in her temples. Rubbing her face and deciding that a cup of tea might soothe her racing thoughts, she grunted as she stood awkwardly. With a quick flick of her finger, flames roared to life in the hearth and she shuffled to the kitchen to grab the kettle. She spent the remainder of the day downing cup after cup of tea, refusing to leave the nest of blankets she had dragged in front of the glowing embers and crying until she had no breath left.

The following morning, Hermione dragged herself off the floor and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Her face pulsed in pain, obviously still swollen from her fallen tears. She refused to magic away the traces of her misery, instead choosing to display her salt-covered cheeks. She hadn't heard Malfoy nor seen him since the news had broken. She doubted he had taken it well. She was still struggling with it herself. A month stuck with Malfoy had been manageable. Rough at first, but manageable. Now, they were stuck together indefinitely. Not to mention she had transformed once again and apparently, Cerridwen had shown Malfoy something terrifying. He had barely been able to speak to her afterwards. She swallowed thickly, recalling the thrill of touching his skin. She could not recall a moment in which their skin had made contact, excluding that brief moment in Third Year. But that had been prior to the whole 'being a goddess vessel' business. His skin had lit up beautifully, covered in delicate runes. She had felt nearly possessive upon seeing those marks upon his body. Instinctively, she knew those symbols were hers. He belonged to her. She wanted to taste those symbols etched on his skin.

Were they as sweet as they looked?

Hermione gagged. What in Merlin's name was wrong with her!?

Days passed with no sign of Malfoy. With the exception of occasional shuffling coming from above, Hermione would have not known if he was alive or not. Each day, she fixed breakfast and dinner for him. The guilt she felt for him was immense. In a way, her friends had let them down. They always knew Mundungus was a liability, but the Order was desperate and that always lead to recklessness. Each day, she returned to the tray left untouched by Malfoy. She was concerned that he was not eating. Swallowing, she decided if he hadn't eaten by the morning, she would knock the door down and force food down his pale throat.

The next morning, as she laid half-asleep on the couch, Hermione thought she heard a hushed murmur above her. Her brow creased at the gentlest of strokes across her cheekbones. Her mind quickly forgetting the experience in its drowsy haze allowed her to drift off once again.

He had quietly crept down the stairs, his bare feet careful to not create any disturbing sounds. Briefly, he stopped to gaze at the witch below him. She was stretched out on the couch, her arm thrown haphazardly above her. Her hair was wild as ever, a curl draped across her cheek. Shaking slightly, he reached out his hand and lightly brushed the errant strand from her face. Her breath came out in deep, even sighs. A frown graced his lips as her face furrowed at his touch. He slowly withdrew his hand and observed her once more.

"Forgive me for this," he whispered and soundlessly fled from the room, into the freezing arms of the forest.

Shivering, Hermione opened her eyes to a cold fireplace and midday sun. Realizing she was alone, once again, she heaved herself up and went to fetch the tray she had left for Malfoy this morning. Climbing the stairs, hoping he might answer her knocks this morning, she nearly missed the condition of his breakfast tray. She cocked her head when she noticed the tray was askew. Bending to inspect, she noticed the food remained untouched, but the tray had been moved from where she originally placed it. She turned to glance at the bedroom door and was confused when she realized the door was slightly cracked. Gingerly, she stepped forward and tapped the door open.

"Malfoy?' she called out, afraid of what she might find.

As she peered inside, she was disappointed to find no immediate signs of the wizard. Taking a cautious step forward, she craned her neck around to observe the entirety of the room. Looking left and right, she frowned. Malfoy wasn't there. Looking down, she noticed his black loafers sitting by the corner of the bed. Lifting her gaze, she observed his thick cloak thrown carelessly on the bed. Her eyes widened in fear.

NO.

She raced down the stairs and out the door, screaming out Malfoy's name. She ran down the path she had seen him take so many times before, her cloak billowing behind her.

"MALFOY!" she shrieked, eyes searching wildly for any sight of the blonde-haired Slytherin.

"Where are you?" she cried out, her throat burning from the wintery air surrounding her.

Her breath hitched when a splash of vibrant red captured in her eyes. She choked, hoping that what she was seeing was a mistake. She lurched forward, following the trail of crimson droplets against the blinding snow. She rounded a gnarled tree and released a strangled scream upon recognizing his still form, laying broken against the frozen ground. She rushed to his side, dragging his body towards her, and cradled his head in her lap. Cuts crisscrossed his pale arm and she retched, seeing the skin flayed so deeply that bone was visible. Blood was weeping from the wound and pooling on the ground around them. She gasped, realizing it was the Dark Mark that had been cut from his arm. His eyes were shut, and his features were bluish-white. She frantically felt for a pulse, fervently whispering healing spells. She clamped her hand on his arm, attempting to stem the flow.

"Malfoy," she pleaded, using her other hand to tenderly brush his hair from his face, "Please be ok."

He gave no reaction to her words or to the spells. Taking a deep breath, she focused on calling forth Cerridwen.

"Help him please," she begged, "I-I can't…Please don't make me…" she trailed off.

Hermione felt a hum of magic fill her mind.

My child.

The voice filled her body and wrapped her in it embrace. Hermione exhaled at its familiar touch.

"Please save him." Hermione implored, drawing Malfoy's limp form closer, "I can't l-lose…him."

Be warned. With this act, you shall be further bound to him. Your lives and magic are intertwined. Do you accept these conditions?

"Tell me what to do." Hermione commanded, her face set in a determined grimace as his blood seeped from between her fingers.

The cold has brought darkness. Breath into him the fire of life. Place your lips upon his and exhale our magic.

Normally, Hermione would have stomped, screamed, and shouted at the thought of placing her lips upon the boy who had taunted and bullied her mercilessly for her blood status and stood by as his aunt tortured her. However, that felt like eons ago. All she could think of was bringing him back to her. Somewhere, in her mind, she knew she would not survive without him. In an ancient tongue, Cerridwen urged her forward. Hermione felt her magic flare, shimmering like a golden mist. She felt Cerridwen rise to the surface, as if ascending from some liquid depth. She whispered in Hermione ear, pouring that fire into her. She tilted Malfoy's face to her and lowered her lips to his as the woods around them began to fill with a glowing haze. Hermione's eyes squeezed shut as she was overwhelmed with Cerridwen's fiery magic. She gasped at the searing contact of their lips. She grasped his face to her, pouring her magic into the blinding kiss. Together, their runes shone, and a shimmering light leaked from the gaping wound in Malfoy's arm. She felt a tendril of his magic reach out weakly. Like quicksilver, his fluid magic began flowing through the gilded vapor of hers. She hissed against his mouth at the magical contact. Her hand snaked up and roughly tangled fingers into his disheveled hair, losing herself in magic coursing between them. Hermione felt Cerridwen purr in approval.

He shall live.

Hermione threw her head back as their magic continued coiling together, breaking the bruising kiss. She gasped for breath, her body shaking against the feel of both Malfoy and Cerridwen's magics filling her body. It danced with her own magic, stuttered moans seeping out from her lips. Feeling Cerridwen sink below once again, Hermione's eyes dropped towards Malfoy's body and her eyes widened at the change. His sunken features had disappeared, and the weeping wound had been healed. Several nasty scars had taken its place, but most amazingly, the Dark Mark was gone. In its place, was an exact copy of her own mark. Cerridwen had warned this would further bind them together and she had made sure Hermione knew that by leaving the shimmering symbol. With a stuttered breath, she lifted trembling fingers to his neck hoping fervently she'd locate a pulse. She broke out in a relieved cry when she felt the smallest flicker of a heartbeat. His body shifted slightly and she gripped harder, frightened of letting him go. His eyelids fluttered with a sharp intake of breath, his chest rising. She removed her hand from his neck and placed it softly on his cheek.

"Come back to me." She whispered, waiting what felt like an eternity.

"Hermione." Came a quiet sigh.